DEAREST ELLEN.
When the rose-bud of summer, its beauties bestowing,
On winter's rude banks all its sweetness shall pour;
And the sunshine of day in night's darkness be glowing,
Oh! then, dearest Ellen, I'll love you no more.
When of hope, the last spark which thy smile us'd to cherish!
In my bosom shall die, and its splendour be o'er;
And the pulse of this heart which adores you shall perish,
Oh! then, dearest Ellen, I'll love you no more.